


Perfect

by yourobdtst



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, a whole lotta love and desperation lol, other members might be briefly mentioned but thats it, other tags will be added as i work on this more but so far, overzealous use of italics lmao, this is yutae and yutae only lol, wow yuta really has a mouth on him doesnt he!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-07-02 15:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15799239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourobdtst/pseuds/yourobdtst
Summary: The two of them tangle together like second nature, without even thinking about it. It’s natural, how much they touch, considering how long they’ve been Taeyong-and-Yuta to everyone around them. They’re a package deal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi. it's been a hot minute since i've posted, thanks for stopping by
> 
> on my last (which was also my first) fic, someone commented on the lack of yutae and i was like?? you're so right???? i neglected one of the best parings of two soft hearted angels and that's not right and i've been chipping away at writing this pretty much ever since
> 
> so, yeah. sorry about that, i hope this makes up for it

The two of them tangle together like second nature, without even thinking about it. Their fingers clasp together like a lifeline during long car rides, they wind their long arms around each other’s slender waists absentmindedly on photoshoot sets, they rest weary heads on each other’s shoulders in green rooms. It’s natural, how much they touch, considering how long they’ve been _Taeyong and Yuta_ to everyone around them. They’re a package deal.

 

-

 

They lay face to face on Taeyong’s bed, legs tightly entwined, foreheads pressed together, breathing onto each other’s lips. Yuta is toying with the strings of Taeyong’s sweater, the purple one with the English phrase across the front that they share on occasion. Taeyong has one hand resting on Yuta’s waist, the other curled under his shirt, against the bare skin of his chest, feeling his heartbeat against his knuckles. Taeyong could easily fall asleep like this, surrounded by the warmth and comfort Yuta gives him, but he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to lose a second of Yuta’s attention zeroed in on him and him alone.

 

He remembers the first time he took things beyond lazy cuddling – the first time he needed more physical comfort than what he got from Yuta’s embrace. They had been cramped together on an armchair in their living room, Taeyong’s legs draped across Yuta’s, his head tucked into Yuta’s neck. He’d felt small and cared for. He’d felt _almost_ perfect. His heart had been racing, booming in his ears, and he struggled to keep his breathing in check as he lifted his head off Yuta’s shoulder, steeled his nerves, and asked for what he craved:

 

“Can you – would you ever – do you wanna maybe kiss me?”

 

(An odd request, really, to ask of someone you’ve openly referred to as your brother, but Taeyong has never really been all that normal. Besides, it had been building, in Taeyong’s mind – building from the pull he felt between them that seemed so gravitational, between the gentle, lingering touches that Taeyong had started laving over Yuta’s skin, whenever he could reach it. His desire had come onto him slowly, and he’d truly believed for the longest time that what sated him was Yuta’s body, his touch, the solid presence of his best friend. That had changed one late night in the dark of Taeyong’s bedroom, when Yuta nuzzled himself into Taeyong’s neck and just _barely_ grazed his lips to Taeyong’s pulse point; he’d been slapped with the urgent realization that Yuta would give him so much more, if he wanted, and god, he _wanted_ , from that first innocent touch of Yuta’s lips, from then on even so much as sharing a gaze felt electric. Taeyong has sharp eyes that would catch Yuta’s flicker to his lips when he would pout. This really had been a long time coming.)

 

Yuta had tilted his head, hot whiskey eyes boring straight to Taeyong’s nervous, nervous soul, crippling him, and he had already started cursing himself for reading it all wrong, for ever wanting more when Yuta leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Taeyong’s mouth.

 

“I want to,” Yuta breathed, airy against Taeyong’s lips, “but only if you’ll kiss me back.”

 

Taeyong had let out a strangled gasp, crashing his lips to Yuta’s and tangling his fingers in his hair, clacking their teeth together with his overzealousness. Yuta’s hand on his hip, firm, had schooled him calm again, and they kissed languid and timeless, slow and full of words unspoken that they could just _feel_.

 

His heart bloomed, chest filling with warmth, and he knew; yes, he _knew_ that _this_ is what perfect felt like.

 

These days, Taeyong’s heart doesn’t race with panic, but with affection, as he nudges Yuta’s nose with his own and shifts the angle of their heads to be just right to slot their lips together. It’s soft, sensual, gets Taeyong’s blood flowing hot and slow like molten glass in his veins. It’s heady, the feeling of Yuta’s fingertips coming up to trace his jawline as it moves. Yuta’s lips are fuller than his own, slightly chapped but still soft as a dream.

 

There’s no teeth, no tongue, just the gentle push and pull of them sharing breaths between kisses, getting steadily wetter, lips starting to slide slick and beautiful. Yuta lets out the prettiest, softest whine that Taeyong takes hungrily into his own mouth, gives a gentle suck to Yuta’s bottom lip in response. This is how it is, a give and take between them, care and be cared for, and Taeyong will give anything to keep it this way.

 

They fall asleep this way, tied up in each other, fading into unconsciousness in the space between their kisses.

 

-

 

They’re addicted to the stage, feeding off the feeling of pounding bass in their chests and the ringing screams of their own names in their ears. It’s a drug they can’t get enough of, sends them soaring, a high it takes a while to come down from.

 

All the members have their own methods to wind down after a performance. Some will sneak out to use their residual energy to practice, run choreo, work out, if that’s their thing. Some sit quietly at home, watching some mindless show on low volume, letting the quiet leech the adrenaline from their bodies until their eyes drop closed and they get their well-deserved rest. Some prefer to be alone, others can’t stand isolation. There’s eighteen of them, they all work something out.

 

Taeyong and Yuta wind down together. Always.

 

It’s with practiced ease that they fall into each other, breathless with heads spinning a mile a minute. They crash through the door, fall gracelessly onto Yuta’s bed, a tangle of sweaty limbs and needy, demanding mouths. Taeyong has his hands sunk deeply into Yuta’s hairspray-sticky hair, keeping him close, chests pressed tightly together. Yuta’s leg is hooked around Taeyong’s waist.

 

The kiss is sloppy, a disgusting mess that they both feel so alive for, far too wet with far too much tongue but they can’t stop, it feels so right. Feels like just what they need right now.

 

Yuta pulls at the shoulders of Taeyong’s sweater, whimpers, and Taeyong bites his lip in heated parting before shimmying back to tug off his pullover, not thinking completely clearly.

 

He’d been sweat-soaked after that performance, the intensity he always delivers paired with the summer heat means that when it came time to change he neglected to put on a shirt, just slid his hoodie on, mind absolutely fried, and started hustling the members out the door.

 

This – this could be a big mistake. This is not a line they’ve crossed; they’ve touched under clothes, pressed hands to the planes of each other’s chests and dragged nails down, but. Never taken anything off. There’s always been that thin barrier between them, and perhaps that’s what kept things normal and okay between them. Taeyong starts reeling, immediately thinking far too hard, that he’s fucked up, that this is never what Yuta wanted from him, liked how easy what they had was without starting to push boundaries and _god_ , Taeyong would _break_ if Yuta leaves, if he loses having Yuta like this.

 

The two of them are both still panting, overheated, but Taeyong’s blood is running cold. He can’t look Yuta in the eye, holds himself stock-still, waits for the rejection he knows is coming.

 

It doesn’t come.

 

Instead, he hears a hushed moan from Yuta, feels the bed shift beside him and Yuta inches closer, closer, until suddenly Taeyong feels a leg thrown across his lap and a weight settling onto his upper thighs. His breath stutters out, heart pounds harder that it did during their first kiss, and Yuta – now perched prettily on his lap – pushes his open palms up from Taeyong’s hips, glides up and up against his slick skin until he’s clutching reverently to the sides of his jaw, fingertips brushing the cropped hair at the base of his neck.

 

Yuta presses his forehead to Taeyong’s almost innocently, but there’s nothing innocent about this, about how heavy they’re still breathing, they aren’t even _kissing_ anymore, and the stage high is long gone – they’re just drunk on each other now.

 

They stare into each other’s eyes, trusting, so trusting, _wanting_.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Yuta rasps, and crashes their mouths together again, teeth biting and tongue licking hot into Taeyong’s mouth, searching for more.

 

Taeyong brings his arms up, shaking but sure, loops them tight around Yuta’s waist and groans, half with pleasure and half with unhappiness. He’s shirtless, bare in front of Yuta, losing his mind with dizzying kisses and the drag of Yuta’s own shirt against his nipples. He wants it off. He wants their chests together, the feel of skin on skin, to make Yuta feel as helpless as he does.

 

So he tugs at the hem of Yuta’s shirt, bites harsh onto his bottom lip to get his attention.

 

“You too,” he’s breathless against Yuta’s lips, dizzy with desire, “Wanna see you too, please.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, baby, okay,” Yuta hurriedly wrestles his shirt off, misses how the pet name he lets slip affects Taeyong underneath him. Something red hot burns under his skin, something so different from the gentle tingling he usually gets with Yuta, and he feels it, feels how this has shifted everything, changed their whole dynamic, but he’s _not scared_ , not when Yuta is back on top of him, slick lips slotting rough and perfect against his own. Taeyong feels his own desperation mirrored in Yuta’s sloppy kisses, feels _wanted_ , and this is all that he needs, Yuta’s bare chest pressed tightly to his own, raising goosebumps and kicking up his heartbeat. This is all he wants, ever.

 

“You don’t know what you do to me.” Yuta’s words travel from his lips directly to Taeyong’s.

 

And Taeyong can’t help the honesty that slips out when he says, “Wanna do everything to you.”

 

Yuta groans, loud, drops his head into Taeyong’s neck and laves hot, open mouthed kisses, mindful to not leave marks but still making Taeyong’s blood roar in his ears. His grip on Yuta’s hips is vice-like, doesn’t want Yuta to leave when he needs him so desperately.

 

“You can tell me to stop if you don’t like it, Taeyongie,” Yuta mutters into his collarbone, and Taeyong doesn’t quite understand how Yuta could think he would _ever_ dislike anything he could do to him, but he can’t reply, can’t respond, not when Yuta shifts his hips, lining up with Taeyong, and _oh_.

 

Oh, _god_ , Taeyong hadn’t realized, been too focused on Yuta’s mouth, the feeling of his bare skin, the rasp of his breaths, to realize the burning he’s feeling is arousal and he’s hard, _achingly hard_ in his sweatpants, all for Yuta. The realization sends him spinning, and the feeling of Yuta’s own hard cock lined up with his own and forcefully rocking down puts him out of his mind, all he can do is moan, high and breathy. It’s impossibly good, so good it hurts, and Taeyong can’t get enough.

 

Can’t get enough of Yuta, Taeyong winds one arm around Yuta’s slim waist, rolls his hips to meet Yuta’s and hears his groan, low and sexy in his ear. Taeyong’s other hand reaches up to Yuta’s hair, tugs him back to face him, wants his lips back, and Yuta is so sweet, so _perfect_ , indulges him in another messy kiss, broken apart by their moans.

 

Their grind doesn’t ever go slow, starts and stays rough and frantic. Yuta ruts down onto Taeyong, who tries his best to keep up, get more of that addictive friction. Taeyong’s mind is nothing but _Yuta Yuta Yuta_ , Yuta and his breathy moans, Yuta and the twist of his muscles under Taeyong’s fingertips, lithe and strong, how Yuta’s heavy cock presses hotly against his own, the feeling muffled through layers of fabric but still so goddamn _good._ Taeyong’s underwear is too rough against the head of his cock, but that small zing of pain that comes with every incessant roll of Yuta’s hips is fucking incredible, makes this all the more intense.

 

Taeyong doesn’t know how long it lasts, how long they spend grinding rhythmic against each other, panting into each other’s mouths and choking out moans of each other’s names. He’d spend forever here, surrounded by Yuta, pleasure ever building, cocks painfully hard against each other through their pants, but Yuta starts to whimper, his body starts shaking on top of Taeyong, and he presses is head back into Taeyong’s shoulder to whisper:

 

“I’m so close, Taeyongie, so close, please come with me, I wanna make you feel good,” his lips are slick against Taeyong’s neck, his words bringing him closer, closer, so quickly he’s drowning in Yuta and how amazing his weight feels on his cock, how incredible the push-and-pull pressure is, how perfect perfect _perfect_ this is.

 

“Yuta,” he gasps, “Yuta, I’m gonna–”

 

“Yes, please,” Yuta begs, grinding down faster, rhythm getting sloppy as he brings them closer, “Come with me, please baby, come with me.”

 

It’s the name, the _baby_ , the feeling of being claimed by Yuta that tips Taeyong over, sends his eyes rolling back and his body tensing bow-string tight underneath him. Taeyong moans, high pitched and loud, whimpers as Yuta keeps rocking through his orgasm until his own hips stutter to a stop and he gasps into Taeyong’s neck. Taeyong can feel Yuta’s cock twitching as he comes, and he goes lightheaded with just how much he likes it.

 

And then, suddenly, the haze of arousal dissipates, and Taeyong is _terrified_ , scared absolutely shitless about what they’ve just done and what it means. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Yuta regrets this, wouldn’t know how to handle it if he can’t gravitate into his touch at every moment because he lost his head one night and ruined _everything_. If Yuta leaves, Taeyong has nothing, _is_ nothing, and his eyes well up in fear.

 

But Yuta lifts his head, looks Taeyong in his wide, teary eyes for just a moment, before leaning down for a kiss.

 

It’s a chaste kiss, an old kiss, something they’ve practiced and perfected. It’s comfortable. It leaves no doubt, no fear in Taeyong, and his terrors vanish as he basks happily, _safely_ , in the afterglow.

 

Yuta smiles down at him, wide and a little lopsided. “I’m too tired to clean up.”

 

Taeyong hums, pulls Yuta down into his side, into the way they’ve cuddles a million times. “We can just stay here.” It’s unlike him, but if it’s what Yuta wants, Taeyong can bend to fit. He can stay, pants messy and heart full, warm enough wrapped up in Yuta that they don’t need blankets. It feels like a dream, coming down like this, coming down from a different high, but always coming down together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He does what he can.
> 
> He wishes he could do more for Yuta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back!! it took a while but i'm actually very happy with how this chapter turned out
> 
> there are some points that might make it sound like taeyong is kinda of,, obsessed? with yuta? but i want to make it clear that i just characterize taeyong as being a little shy, a lot nervous, with a massive heart and a whole fucking lot of love to give and no real knowledge of how to articulate that. this is also heavily told from his perspective, and yuta has a lot of the same troubles with articulation (you know when irl yuta complimented irl taeyong's bangs and said they were cut nicely and they just. they couldn't even look at each other lmao its like that) but i can assure you that these two really just love each other so much they don't know what to do
> 
> thank you so much for giving this fic a chance!! as always if there's any mistakes or inconsistencies don't be afraid to let me know!!!

Taeyong, a Seoul native, will never truly understand.

 

As a leader, as a _friend_ , he tries his best, listens very closely and holds very tightly when the foreign members get homesick. He aches for them, it hurts to see them cry after a phone call or brief video chat with their families, hurts even more when they cry because they don’t have the time to speak at all to the people they miss so much. Taeyong tries his best to build his group up to be a family, but he knows friendship isn’t quite the same as blood. Knows that he’s lucky to live close to his own family, and has come to know that even the smallest thing can heal homesickness.

 

So he cooks, as best as he can manage, Chinese dishes that Sicheng likes, ruffles his hair and tells him that _hyung tried his best_. He learns a few Thai phrases, lets Ten laugh at him and fix his atrocious pronunciation, does the same for Lucas using Cantonese. He likes to see their smiles grow as they correct him. When winter comes, even though he doesn’t like the snow, he’ll stay outside with Mark as he watches it fall and listen to stories about Canada and the frigid city he misses.

 

He does what he can.

 

He wishes he could do more for Yuta.

 

Yuta, the only Japanese member they have, doesn’t have anyone else to share a language or a culture with, so Taeyong pours his heart into learning what he can, staying up late talking about Yuta’s childhood and his hometown and the strange customs he never questioned, trying to recreate food he loves, spends his down time learning Japanese even when the company is pushing for him to learn more English, promises him a trip home, off-schedule, one day, _some day_. None of it seems to work the way it does with the others. Yuta just gives him an unreadable look, a soft chuckles, and thanks him out of politeness, Taeyong thinks, not because he’s actually happy. It’s been going on for a while, but Taeyong won’t give up, not if figuring it out means making Yuta feel good.

 

He’s started paying closer attention to Yuta, even though he already had a bad habit of paying him the most attention. Started to note what’s being said when he smiles widest, sees how he leans into casual touches from other members, pays close enough attention to make the long suffering realization: what heals his homesickness has nothing to do with Japan, but everything to do with companionship.

 

Yuta likes to feel like he belongs.

 

Yuta smiles widest when Jisung or Chenle choose _his_ lap to crawl into on movie nights, hums happily when Sicheng absentmindedly calls him “my Yuta”; the joy is his eyes is crystal clear when Doyoung asks _him specifically_ if he’d like to come run errands. He doesn’t need his home in Japan, just needs to know he has a home, here, among his members. Likes to feel wanted.

 

Taeyong can do that, has wanted Yuta even before he figured out that’s what he needed. Wants Yuta to feel wanted, wants Yuta to feel like he can belong to _him_.

 

They haven’t talked about what happened that night after the performance; though, normally, they don’t really have to talk about anything, they know each other so well. Nothing like it has happened since then. They touch like normal, cuddle and kiss like normal, but Taeyong can feel something different in their lazy make out sessions now, can feel a tension he aches to snap.

 

He catches Yuta on his way to the bathroom for his morning shower one day, his dear friend bleary eyed with sleep, he himself wide awake, has been up for hours thinking of how to say this, to _start_ this. He’s nervous, his heart racing like that first kiss, first touch, will it always feel like this? Will all their firsts close his throat up like this? How many firsts will they _have_?

 

He’s nervous, so he starts with something normal, commonplace among their group.

 

“You’re tired,” he mutters softly, and Yuta nods. “Wanna shower with me? I can wash your hair for you.”

 

Yuta smile sleepily. “Sure. Sounds nice.”

 

So Taeyong does all the work to make Yuta feel pampered, ushers him into the bathroom and takes care to lock the door, runs the shower and keeps the water pleasantly warm, not hot, the way Yuta likes it. He strips Yuta down using gentle hands to coax his tired body out of his pajamas, quickly pulls off his own clothes, and tries to steel his nerves.

 

He takes Yuta by the waist, pulls him under the water spray to wet his hair, lets his eyes trace how the water trails rivers down the beautiful angles of Yuta’s face, pooling in his collarbones. Teayong pushes his hair off his forehead, and goes to reach for Yuta’s shampoo, then changes his mind. He grabs his own instead.

 

It’s as he’s lathering it into Yuta’s hair, the smell of eucalyptus swimming around them, that Yuta points it out.

 

“This shampoo is yours,” he murmurs.

 

It’s not a question, but Taeyong says, “Yes.”

 

“I’m gonna smell like you.”

 

“Is that a bad thing?”

 

Yuta hums, the beginning of smile on the corners of his lips, and Taeyong’s heart is pushed high in his throat.

 

“No.”

 

Taeyong lets out a sigh of relief, massages his fingers into Yuta’s scalp just to hear him sigh softly. He shields Yuta’s eyes with his hand to keep the soap out when he rinses his hair, watches the bubbles trickle down his body, wants so badly to touch, so he does. He lets his hands follow little bubbly rivers across Yuta’s shoulders, his chest, curling around his hips. He loses himself in it for a moment, loses himself in the wonders of Yuta’s body and how beautiful he looks in this moment, still half asleep, muscles lax and eyes closed, so open and comfortable in front of Taeyong. He feels honoured, so undeserving of seeing Yuta like this, and so, so cripplingly shy, but.

 

But he needs to do this. Needs to sate the desperation in his bones, the burning desire to do everything he can for his Yuta, his _best friend_ , his _everything_.

 

He lathers his own body wash onto a wash cloth, something milky and tropical smelling that always leaves his skin silky smooth, works it over Yuta’s shoulders and chest while his other hand traces up his neck to fondle the little baby hairs behind Yuta’s ear. Yuta hums, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth, tilts his head easily to the side as if he’s offering the slender column of his throat to Taeyong.

 

Taeyong wonders if he can feel the electricity thrumming under his fingertips. His hand slides back down Yuta’s neck, down to his waist and around his back, the hand with the wash cloth following under the guise of washing Yuta’s back. He pulls Yuta close, close enough that Yuta falls forward and rest his head in the crook of Taeyong’s neck, lets Taeyong and the warm water work the knots out of his back.

 

Yuta can feel it. Taeyong knows Yuta must feel it, the pounding of his heart and he tosses aside the cloth to slide his hands over Yuta’s skin, from his broad shoulders, down his back, brushing shy fingertips over the curve of his ass. He knows because Yuta slides his arms around Taeyong’s waist, much needed support grounding him, and nuzzles into his neck.

 

“Yongie,” he mumbles.

 

“Yuta,” Taeyong breathes back, lips brushing over the shell of Yuta’s ear, can’t hear himself over the panic, the terror of rejection, roaring in his ears but goddammit he is _doing this_ , “can I do something? For you?”

 

 _For you, for you_ , its all about _you_ , are the only coherent thoughts that flick about in Taeyong’s mind.

 

Yuta hums again, fingers tracing idle patterns on Taeyong’s back. “Anything you want, baby.”

 

Fuck, Taeyong feels like he could _melt_ , feels like he could fall apart after just one word, feels small and tightly wrapped around Yuta’s finger. He’s weak for every inch of Yuta.

 

“Want _you_ ,” he whispers, light as air, isn’t even sure Yuta can hear it over the water. But Yuta can see him, watch him slide down to his knees, nestle his forehead against Yuta’s softly defined abdomen, trace his fingers up Yuta’s calves. Taeyong feels so _right_ here, on his knees before Yuta, eyes closed like he’s praying, worshipping the divinity that is Yuta, his Yuta.

 

There’s a soft gasp above him. “Taeyongie-”

 

“Want this,” Taeyong’s soul is shaking, but he forces his voice steady, “want to give you this.” He ghosts his lips over the base of Yuta’s soft cock, short shaven hairs scratching his lips just slightly.

 

Yuta’s fingertip brushes his temple, sliding a wet strand of hair away from his eyes as he kisses the sharp points of Yuta’s hip bones, sucking gently at the skin. Taeyong  hears Yuta’s breath go shaky as he lands a gentle bite next to his navel, and he realizes he’s free to do this, bite him, mark Yuta as _his_. Hardly anyone sees his bare chest, even less people see his bare legs, and suddenly his mind is lost, consumed by the image of Yuta, fucked out and spent, sprawled out on Taeyong’s bed with hickeys littered onto his inner thighs, up his ribs, curving over the swell of his ass. He’s breathtaking like this, even only is Taeyong’s mind, and god, he aches to make the image real, he _burns_ for it.

 

He digs his fingernails into Yuta’s legs, sweetly kisses the skin of Yuta’s left hip, then opens his mouth and _sucks_.

 

Yuta whimpers, threads his fingers into Taeyong’s hair as he gets marked. He shudders, Taeyong feels it under his lips and he bites down a little to make it dark, make it really last.

 

When he pulls back, Yuta’s cock has swollen to half-hardness and there’s a beautiful, perfect little bruise etched onto Yuta’s skin.

 

“Mine,” Taeyong doesn’t know what makes him say it, feels out of his mind with the amount of satisfaction it’s giving him, “that’s mine.”

 

“ _Yours_ ,” Yuta whimpers, sounds wrecked, looks it too, with how his eyes are squeezed shut and his lips hang open, “please, Taeyong, I – please just – _god,_ just do something.”

 

Taeyong loves it, loves that Yuta is only his like this, loves that Yuta looks this gone already. It gives Taeyong an addictive rush of power, makes him want more. He bites down again, harder, right on the sensitive junction between Yuta’s thigh and his groin, sucks fast and harsh a blooming red mark just inches from Yuta’s rapidly hardening erection. Above him, Yuta sounds like he chokes, like he’s struggling to swallow down his moans, and Taeyong’s headrush just gets more intense.

 

He rides that wave of confidence, of power, pulls his lips away from the bruise and doesn’t even let Yuta breathe before he’s sliding his lips over the head of Yuta’s cock, laving his tongue just underneath the crown. And Yuta – Yuta just – he just –

 

Just lets out the most _heavenly_ moan Taeyong has ever heard, deep in his throat and soft and breathy, manly but gentle, so overwhelmingly _Yuta_ and so dizzyingly _perfect_ , Taeyong is obsessed. Needs to hear it again, craves to force that sound out of Yuta using his lips and tongue.

 

Taeyong brings his hands up to Yuta’s quivering thighs in an attempt to steady himself, then slides his mouth further onto Yuta’s cock, letting the saliva pooling under his tongue ease the glide. Yuta is thick and heavy in his mouth, hot and perfect, Taeyong sucks gently as he pulls off slightly then forces himself down even further, pressing his tongue as tightly to the underside as he can.

 

“Yongie,” Yuta whimpers, “holy fuck, Yong, god, you’re so –” Taeyong pulls off almost all the way, circles the head with his tongue and pulls another raspy moan out of Yuta.

 

“You’re so fucking perfect.” Yuta finishes, and god, Taeyong _glows_ under the praise, preens as much as he can with Yuta’s dick forcing his jaw open wide, feels so much like this is what he’s for: making Yuta feel good, earning his place in Yuta’s life.

 

Taeyong loses himself in it; in the filthy, wet slide of his tongue, in the tingle of his abused lips as they swell and darken, in the taste of salt in the back of his throat as Yuta’s cock weeps precome into his mouth. He can hardly breathe, keeps forcing his throat open to take Yuta further and further down, and it makes his head spin. He can feel Yuta throbbing on his tongue, keeps his mouth hot and tight and _good_ for Yuta, the best that he can be for him.

 

What the hell was Taeyong ever so scared of, with Yuta’s moans melodic above him, in time with every downward stroke Taeyong’s lips make across his cock. It feels so natural, the back-and-forth, pleasing Yuta is instinctual, it’s what he’s made for. He feels fucking _incredible_.

 

He pulls off just to lay a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses along the length of Yuta’s cock and suck softly, chastely at the head, gives himself a moment to let his blood simmer under his skin. His fingertips are numb where they rest on Yuta’s thighs, he can barely feel his legs, all he feels is his own sanity dripping away as he licks beads of precome from the slit of Yuta’s cock. He glaces up to Yuta’s face and it feels like a punch in the gut, how absolutely _gorgeous_ Yuta is from the angle, eyebrows furrowed and eyes tightly closed, whimpering past where he’s biting on his lower lip to try and keep quiet.

 

Taeyong’s heart jolts, he’s so gone for Yuta, belongs to him in every way already. He slides his tongue up Yuta’s length, wants Yuta to let himself belong to Taeyong too, kneels there willing to beg for it using his tongue and throat and _need_.

 

“Come on, Taeyongie,” Yuta sounds like he’s begging, and Taeyong can’t deny him a thing, sinks back down to the sound of Yuta’s choked cry, “just a little more, so fucking good, _god_ , so fucking good, please, baby.” Yuta’s fingers sink into Taeyong’s hair and his hips push a fraction forward into Taeyong’s mouth and _fuck_ , the thought of it, of Yuta really forcing him down, fucking his throat, _using him_ , it makes Taeyong start to shake with how turned on he is. His own cock hangs painfully hard between his spread knees but he doesn’t dare touch himself, refuses to distract himself when he’s got Yuta, moaning and perfect, to please first.

 

Yuta thrusts shyly a few more times and Taeyong is _dizzy_ with how much he loves it, groans around Yuta’s cock and loves his gasp at the feel of the vibration. He wants more, pushes his tongue down flat and forces himself to take Yuta almost to the base every time he sinks down, lets his throat convulse as he chokes on the head buried past his gag reflex because Yuta fucking _sobs_ when he does.

 

“Taeyong,” Yuta whimpers, “I’m, _fuck, oh god_ , please don’t stop, fuck, I’m so –” Taeyong cuts him off by sucking harshly, pulling a strangled gasp from him, Taeyong’s blood _burns_.

 

“Close, baby,” Yuta sobs, “so fucking _close_.” He must know, by now, what that name does to Taeyong, how it makes his head spin and his heart swell, how it makes him wants to be everything for Yuta, how right now it makes him _need_ the heady taste of Yuta, heavy on his tongue and thick down his throat.

 

It’s on an upstroke, when Taeyong drags his tongue underneath the head particularly hard, that Yuta tugs harshly on his hair, sharply cries “ _Baby, fuck!_ ”

 

Taeyong feels the first gush of come against his tongue and pulls off a split second later, in time to rest the head of Yuta’s cock against his swollen bottom lip and get the next streak of white across his cheek. It’s hot on his skin, feels like it sears into him like a brand, like Yuta is staking his claim and _Taeyong is his, so unconditionally, irreversibly his_. Come keeps dripping from the slit into Taeyong’s mouth and he is humiliatingly eager to lick it off, suck the sensitive head back into the heat of his mouth and lick it clean, lapping up all the come like a man starved. It isn’t _good_ , per se, but it’s _Yuta_ , and Taeyong can’t get enough of the taste.

 

Yuta is whimpering above him, a soft, needy sound. Taeyong raises his eyes to look at him again, marvels at Yuta’s slack jaw and tightly closed eyes, stares in wonder because _he_ did that. Yuta looks angelic and absolutely _spent_ , panting, and _he_ did that.

 

He lets Yuta’s softening cock drop from his mouth, finally allows himself a few full breaths. Yuta’s fingers in his hair unclench, start petting over wet locks, and his blood starts rushing in a different way, a way that feels pure and sweet and so very cared for. His throat burns and he loves it, lasting evidence of what he’s done.

 

“Taeyongie,” Yuta breathes, slumping against the wall of the shower, has his full attention instantly. “Come here, come – come back up.”

 

Taeyong clambers to his feet, his aching knees popping, falls into Yuta’s waiting embrace. Yuta is shaking, as if his heart is pounding too fast for his body to handle, but he’s lax, slow and sated, his hands grip gently to Taeyong’s hips, electric with every touch.

 

“You’re incredible,” Yuta huffs into Taeyong’s collarbone, “that was amazing, Taeyongie, how are you so perfect all the time?”

 

Taeyong’s cheeks blaze and he tries to bury his face in Yuta’s wet hair, latches him arms around his neck and presses his erection, painfully hard, into Yuta’s hip just for some fraction of relief. “Just wanna make you feel good,” he mumbles.

 

“So good,” Yuta keeps praising him, and Taeyong thinks he might pass out with how lightheaded it makes him, “it was so good, baby, can I touch you too?”

 

“ _Please_ ,” Taeyong whines, and suddenly Yuta is dancing his thin fingers up the length of Taeyong’s cock to wrap around the sensitive head, twisting gently. Taeyong’s whole body lurches, too much pleasure all at once, ripping through his body like lightning, intense and addictive. He wants this so bad, wants _Yuta_ so bad his chest aches.

 

“You looked so beautiful on your knees for me, Yongie,” Yuta’s lips brush against the shell of his ear, his free hand pushing his hips backwards until he’s backed up against the tiled wall and Yuta can cage him in. He feels so small, putty in Yuta’s hands, a whining, moaning mess while Yuta takes such precise care of him and he swears he’s burning alive. He can’t feel anything but where Yuta’s touching him, can’t hear the shower running over Yuta’s whispers, can’t focus on anything but the feeling of falling apart.

 

“I could have never imagined,” Yuta’s still talking, _why is he always talking_ , each filthy thought sending Taeyong spiraling even further. “My cock down your throat and you still looked so _pretty_ , baby, how do you do it?”

 

Yuta drags his hand, tight and slow, up and down Taeyong’s shaft, and Taeyong feels like he might cry.

 

“You don’t know, you don’t _know_ ,” Yuta moans, as if it’s his own cock he’s stroking instead of Taeyong’s. “You have _no idea_ what you do to me, Yongie, _shit_.”

 

“Tell me,” Taeyong pleads. “Please, tell me everything.”

 

“Fuck,” Yuta curses. “You know what I imagine sometimes? When you kiss me, you want to know what I’m thinking about?”

 

“ _Please,_ ” Taeyong gasps.

 

“I’m thinking about you,” Yuta’s voice is honey, thick and sweet around him. “I think about what you just _did_ , think about you on your knees, so willing and perfect for me. Or in bed, in between my legs, your beautiful little ass in the air, _fuck_ , you kiss me and all I can think about is getting your lips on my cock.”

 

Yuta’s started to work his hand faster, the fingers on his other hand beginning to toy with the crown of Taeyong’s cock, and he’s so fucking overwhelmed by Yuta, by everything he’s saying and _doing_ , he can’t do anything but choke on his moans.

 

“Now I’ve had it,” Yuta chuckles, but it’s dark, it’s addicting. “I’ve had it and I want more, I want to see how pretty you’d look if I choked you on it –”

 

Arousal tears through Taeyong’s body, makes every nerve ending light up, makes his cock impossibly harder.

 

“Your throat’s so tight baby, I wanna know if your ass is the same, wanna get my fingers wet on your tongue and stretch you out on them –”

 

Taeyong’s hands are shaking, heart pounding and blood running hotter than wildfire. His aching throat chokes out whimpers into Yuta’s ear that he takes as encouragement.

 

“I wanna see you on your knees baby, pretty face in the pillows to try and keep quiet cause I’m gonna make you feel so _good_ , gonna watch you fuck yourself on my fingers –”

 

Taeyong’s eyes roll back into his head and Yuta starts working one hand in tight swivels over the head of his cock, the other stroking long and slow enough to softly toy with his balls on each downward stroke.

 

“Just wanna bend you over –”

 

Taeyong is dizzy.

 

“Wanna spread you out and lick you open, baby, get you wet and dripping for me –”

 

Where the _fuck_ did he learn to talk like this? Taeyong can’t breathe, can’t fucking breathe when Yuta’s telling him _this_ , moaning filth against his lips and setting him on fire down to his bones. Yuta’s thumb is stroking maddening circles under the crown of his cock, and Taeyong can feel his knees start to give out not just from the tortuous pleasure of it, but from the image Yuta paints of Taeyong bent over, Yuta’s tongue licking inside him, getting him wet, _wet and dripping_ , he’d said, wet and dripping like a girl, so he’s slick and ready, so he can –

 

Taeyong’s brain short circuits. So he can get _fucked_. So Yuta can press forward and fuck into him, make Taeyong feel every inch so tortuously slowly, so Yuta can break him down and reduce him to nothing and make him feel it for days after.

 

“Wanna make you cry, baby, wanna make you cry and beg me for it, would you? Would you beg me to fuck you, Taeyongie? If you ask nicely I just might give it to you.”

 

“ _Please_ ,” Taeyong whimpers brokenly. It hurts, the circles Yuta is still rubbing under the sensitive head, offset by how delicious the water-slick friction on Taeyong’s shaft is from Yuta’s other hand jerking him off.

 

“Just like that,” Yuta groans, “ask me nice just like that and I would fuck you so _good_ , baby, you’d be so good for me, so hot and tight and perfect for me. You would make me come so hard, baby.”

 

Somehow that’s _worse_ , even _more_ maddening, when Yuta stops painting pictures of the two of them and starts praising Taeyong for how good he _could_ make Yuta feel. It’s worse, makes him need it more, makes him whine high and needy in his throat, desperate to be anything Yuta wants. Taeyong throws his head back against the wall, doesn’t even feel the pain when it connects, squeezes his eyes shut and tries to choke down the pathetic whimpers Yuta is dragging out of him.

 

“That’s what you want, isn’t it baby?” It doesn’t sound mocking, the way Yuta says it, he makes it sound heavy and hot and dripping with promise. “You want to be good for me? You want to bend over and take it however I’ll give it to you?”

 

“Y-yes, _yes_ ,” Taeyong babbles. “Please, yes, _god_ , anything.”

 

Yuta’s teeth slide up his neck, sharp edges tracing along his jugular to take his earlobe between his teeth.

 

“If I wanted to fuck you nice and slow, you’d let me?” Yuta’s voice is whisper soft in his ear, intense. “If I wanted to make it last for hours, make you wait and wait and _wait_ to come, just so I could see how desperate you’d get, you’d let me?”

 

 _Christ_ , is Taeyong not desperate enough already? He’s shaking like he’s freezing where Yuta has him crowded against the wall, barely able to stand on his own if not for his arms around Yuta’s neck. He can tell his mouth is moving but he has no idea if he’s really even _saying_ anything, or just pleading for Yuta to not stop, _please don’t stop_ , don’t stop with his perfect flicks of his wrist and even more perfect silver tongue.

 

“And if I wanted to fuck you hard?” Yuta’s lips ghost open-mouthed over his jaw “If I wanted to fuck you fast and hard, force you to come two, three, four times in one night? If I wanted to ruin you, you’d let me?”

 

Taeyong’s already ruined. Here in this bathroom, tears starting to leak out of his tightly closed eyes to mix with the water dripping down from his hair, Yuta has him destroyed.

 

“You would do anything for me,” Yuta rasps in his ear, and Taeyong is powerless to do anything but moan. “Wouldn’t you? You would do anything for me, baby.”

 

It’s the fact that Yuta _says_ it, doesn’t ask it, he knows it already beyond any doubt that he’s right, that makes Taeyong see stars. Taeyong is putty in Yuta’s hands and Yuta _knows it_ , and Taeyong comes so hard his knees buckle, he latches his arms impossibly tight around Yuta’s neck and digs his nails into his shoulder blades, buries his face in Yuta’s neck to muffle the dangerously loud moan that rips up his already sore throat, and the sobs that follow when Yuta doesn’t stop touching him, works Taeyong’s cock hard through his orgasm until the sensitivity is too much and Taeyong begs for it to stop.

 

The real world comes back to Taeyong slowly, in pieces. It starts with being able to feel Yuta’s hands rubbing gently up and down his sides, then on to being able hear the shower again over his own breathing and pounding heartbeat. He lifts his head from Yuta’s shoulder, lets the bathroom come back into focus before he slumps back against the wall – feels it this time, his spine grates against the tile – and zeroes back in on Yuta.

 

He’s glowing.

 

Well, he’s always glowing, if you ask Taeyong. Either with love and joy, sparking with playfulness, simmering with anger, he’s always glowing.

 

But now. Right now, Yuta feels like the sun. His eyes are wide and adoring where they’re trained carefully on Taeyong’s face, a shy smile playing on his lips – lips that were only just so, _so_ filthy in Taeyong’s ear.

 

Yuta feels like the sun and Taeyong no longer feels like he’s burning for him, but basking in him.

 

“Was that good?” Yuta worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Was that okay?”

 

Yuta is not great with words like this, Taeyong knows. Heavy words, ones laden with feeling, Yuta is graceless with. Taeyong knows what he’s really asking.

 

_Are you alright? Did I go too far? Did I say too much? If I hurt you, please tell me. You know I would never mean to._

Yes, Taeyong knows. He knows and he nods and he rasps;

 

“That was perfect.”

 

Yuta’s smile is blinding, and Taeyong is _fucked_ , knows it from how his heart jumps and he can’t control his own smile from growing.

 

They’re going to have to talk about this eventually, and Taeyong dreads it.

 

Or. Or maybe they don’t. Maybe the love in Yuta’s eyes is explanation enough, maybe the gentleness in his voice as he offers to clean Taeyong up is enough, maybe the tenderness in his fingertips as he lathers Taeyong’s hair is enough of an explanation as to what the fuck they’re doing. Maybe this is how Yuta loves. Maybe this is how Yuta loves _Taeyong_.

 

Maybe this is what it feels like to be _home_ to Yuta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew, nice!!
> 
> thank you so so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed!! kudos feed my praise kink and every comment is a kick in my ass to get me to write more lmao
> 
> hope to see you again soon!!! :)
> 
> -becca
> 
> [edit 190528: you can come find me here on [twitter](http://twitter.com/peek_a_kyungboo) and my brand new [cc](http://curiouscat.me/yourobdtst), come say hi!!]


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